


He’ll Never Love You Like Me

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Hermione Granger, Drama, F/F, Femslash, Fleur can be charming, Friendship, Harry is a Good Friend, Hermione is charmed, I took this to its logical conclusion, Lavender mostly is too, Parvati is supportive of Hermione's choices, Romance, Ron is an awful friend to Harry in the 4th book, Ron is jealous of Hermione and Fleur, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball, and to Hermione in the 6th, boy is there drama, the fallout is epic (and not in a good way), wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 09:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17764199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: What if it wasn't Victor Krum who asked Hermione to the Yule Ball, but Fleur Delacour?





	He’ll Never Love You Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> I loved writing this, even though it took me months to finish.

** He’ll Never Love You Like Me **

Hermione was in the library when Fleur first approached her.

“You do enjoy your reading, don’t you?” an accented voice asked from beside her, and Hermione’s concentration was broken.

Hermione looked up from her reading, and found herself gazing into the loveliest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. They were a deep, cornflower blue, with long dark lashes. Hermione blinked, and the rest of the girl’s face came into focus.

Hermione had seen the other girl around, of course; she could hardly fail to recognise the Beauxbatons champion. Hermione had been struck even at a distance by the girl’s beauty, and now that she saw her up close, part of Hermione was dazzled by the young woman’s smile and the sparkle in her deep blue eyes.

The rest of Hermione resented the fact that the Beauxbatons champion had elicited that reaction, and Hermione responded accordingly.

“May I help you?” she asked, and her tone was a little frosty.

The Beauxbatons girl smiled, so brilliantly that Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She told herself that she needed to get a grip.

“It is nothing, really – only that I have noticed you are in here every day, without fail, bent over your books as though they hold all the secrets of the universe. Either you are searching for something in particular, or you have a passion for reading which is even greater than mine. Either way, I thought that I would like to know the answer.” 

The girl smiled again, a flash of very white teeth that had almost certainly never required the labours of a dentist – or whatever the wizarding equivalent was.

Hermione was smart enough, having seen the Veela at the World Cup this summer, to know that the Beauxbatons girl was almost certainly part-Veela herself. The neat white-blonde hair, the fair skin, and the supernaturally-symmetrical facial features all gave it away – as did the feeling of _presence_ that the girl carried, drawing attention even from the other side of a crowded hall.

The fact that the girl wasn’t at all put-off by that attention, merely accepting it as her due, clinched the matter. Few people their age were comfortable with that level of attention – just look at Harry, for example. Usually it took years of dealing with being in the spotlight for people to handle it with that kind of careless grace. 

But the Beauxbatons girl could, and did. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was a natural part of being part-Veela, or if the Beauxbatons girl’s supernatural allure had been active for long enough that the girl in question had simply adapted to it.

Not that it made any difference. Hermione frowned, and said, “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Ah, but how unkind of you,” said the Beauxbatons girl, taking a seat in the chair next to Hermione’s. 

Hermione frowned even further. The other girl didn’t seem to notice.

“The point of this competition between our schools is to promote unity and cultural exchange between our peoples, yes?” she said to Hermione. “So it follows that we should try to get to know some of the students of the other schools.” Another flash of a smile. “So surely you will at least tell me your name, if nothing else?”

Hermione hesitated, reluctant to interact any further with the other girl. But… well, the Beauxbatons champion had a point.

“Hermione Granger,” she finally said. The Beauxbatons girl beamed.

“ _Tres heureuse!_ I am Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons.”

“I know who you are,” said Hermione. “You’re one of the Triwizard champions.”

“Indeed,” said Fleur, still smiling. “I had hoped that I would be chosen, as I am the top student in my year, but one never knows how these things will turn out. I am grateful to have been given the opportunity to compete.”

Hermione only said, “I see.” She had no idea why Fleur was sitting here, talking to her. People generally didn’t seek out Hermione’s company, aside from Harry and Ron; and even they had taken a few months and a near-death experience to warm up to her.

Hermione decided that the only way to find out what Fleur was doing here was to ask.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?” Hermione asked. “You could have chosen anyone in this castle to talk to. Why me?”

Fleur leaned forward. Hermione was acutely aware of their proximity.

“What you say is true,” Fleur said with a nod. “I could have spoken to anyone in this castle. But as I said, your evident interest in books intrigued me. I myself am a great reader, for there is nothing like a book to open your mind to the wonders of the universe.”

In spite of Hermione’s… well, suspicion, Fleur’s words struck a chord. She couldn’t help but give a small smile of agreement.

“I know what you mean, I suppose.”

“See? Already we have things in common,” said Fleur.

“So you want to be, what, friends?” Hermione asked.

Fleur smiled again.

“Well, not quite,” she admitted. “I was hoping that you would accompany me to the Yule Ball.”

The silence that followed Fleur’s words was like a gaping chasm stretching out beneath Hermione’s feet, where a moment ago she had been standing on solid ground. Fleur’s words rang in her ears.

“Wait. You want me to be your… date? To the Yule Ball?” Hermione sounded dazed, even to her own ears.

Fleur nodded.

“But we’re both girls,” said Hermione, and could have slapped herself for the inanity and obviousness of the observation.

For the first time, Fleur’s confidence faltered.

“Have I offended you?” she asked. “If so, it was not my intention. It is only that you are pretty, and studious, and I thought that your company would be preferable to any of the boys who insist in falling at my feet.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Hermione asked, both startled and pleased. 

No one had ever thought that she was pretty, before. Hermione knew that she wasn’t conventionally attractive: her hair had always had a life of its own, bushy and uncontrollable, and while Hermione’s features were generally good, she didn’t pluck her eyebrows or wear make-up the way the other girls in her dorm did. 

It wasn’t that Hermione wouldn’t have liked to look as attractive as Lavender or Parvati always did; it was just that being attractive took up so much _time_ , and Hermione’s time was generally spent on things she considered to be more important to her future.

To hear that someone thought she was pretty exactly as she was… was definitely a self-esteem booster.

Fleur, however, looked surprised at the question.

“Of course you are pretty,” she said, watching Hermione’s expression closely. “Can it be that no one has ever said so?”

Hermione thought of all the teasing she’d gotten over the years for her hair and overly-large front teeth, and for her disdain for current fashions. She shook her head.

“Most people don’t think I’m pretty at all.”

“Well, they are fools,” said Fleur, with such conviction that Hermione felt herself blush. “You shine like a star surrounded by a drab night sky. Your appearance is, perhaps a little unpolished – but a diamond is no less a diamond because of its unpolished state.”

“You mean my hair is a complete mess,” said Hermione dryly, even though she couldn’t help but feel charmed by Fleur’s frank flattery.

Fleur only smiled at her.

“Perhaps a little,” she conceded. “But it is better to have too much than to have too little, surely? Think all of all the women whose hair is thin and – what is the word – lacklustre.”

She smiled at Hermione. Hermione couldn’t help it; she smiled back.

“But tell me,” said Fleur. “My asking you to the ball did not offend you, I hope? Despite the fact that I am a woman, and not a man? In France, witches and wizards are perhaps more… _laissez-faire_ about such things than you English.”

“You didn’t offend me,” said Hermione. “I was just… surprised.”

Her reassurance to Fleur was true enough. Hermione wasn’t used to flattery, or people trying to win her favour. While she was aware that it might all be a ruse – her best friend was a rival champion, after all – Hermione prided herself on her ability to judge people, and Fleur, for all her self-assurance, seemed to be sincere in her expression of interest.

The fact that Fleur was very much a girl wasn’t a problem – anything but. Hermione was still trying to figure herself out, but she knew that she was, if anything, more inclined towards women than men – although each had their own appealing traits. It was just that… well, people could be so _judgemental_ , and Hermione was well aware of what people thought of gay or bisexual people – both in the muggle world and the wizarding world. Hermione hadn’t planned to share her leanings until she was absolutely sure of them.

While the wizarding world was more permissive in that respect than the muggle one, it was still thought to be, well, _unusual_ for a woman to choose a partner who was also a woman, or for a man to choose a male partner. After all, the majority of the wizarding world’s population was pureblood or half-blood – and most of them had ingrained ideas about the importance of leaving a legacy and carrying on the family name. To them, people who chose to have relationships only with their own sex and forsake traditional marriage seemed rather eccentric.

But… 

Fleur was dazzlingly beautiful, charming, and actually seemed interested in Hermione as a _person,_ as well as finding her pretty. And – aside from the part of Hermione that took vindictive pleasure in the notion of the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen choosing _her_ over all the boys who had never given Hermione so much as a second glance – Hermione knew that she was genuinely attracted to the other witch. Why not see where it went?

Fleur was silent. She watched Hermione expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Alright,” said Hermione. “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

If Hermione had thought that Fleur was beautiful a moment ago, the way her face lit up at Hermione’s response made her seem more beautiful still. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, all of a sudden.

“Excellent!” said Fleur, with so wide and bright a smile that Hermione was flustered by her own reaction. 

Fleur didn’t seem to have noticed, or else was too polite to behave as though she had. She went right on talking, still looking delighted by Hermione’s acquiescence.

“We shall go together, then,” the French girl declared. “I am sure it will be a most enjoyable night, to spend it in such company.” Hermione blushed, and Fleur reached out to touch her arm. “May I seek you out, before then? So that we may get to know one another better before the ball?”

“I – certainly.” 

“Then I shall speak to you again soon. _A bientot!_ ”

Fleur sent one last, wonderful smile towards Hermione, before getting to her feet and disappearing back between the bookcases that hid Hermione from the view of the rest of the library.

Hermione sat there, still blushing a little, with a sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

But she couldn’t help smiling as she contemplated the fact that she now had a date to the Yule Ball. She honestly hadn’t expected to be asked; the fact that the _Beauxbatons champion_ had been the one to do so left Hermione feeling strangely light inside. 

Still smiling, Hermione bent her head to resume her reading, and couldn’t help but hope that something good came of this.

* * *

As it turned out, Fleur had meant it when she’d asked for permission to talk to Hermione. For the week and a half leading up to the Yule Ball, she sought Hermione out every day. The two of them talked about all kinds of things: the differences between France and England, Hermione’s own holidays to France, Fleur’s attempts to improve her English language skills, which books each of them considered to be foundational French and English literature… 

Their conversations ranged from the mundane to the intellectual, and Hermione was mildly surprised – although she felt embarrassed about it later – to find that Fleur was as capable of intelligently discussing academic concepts as she was.

Only once did the subject of Harry come up, and it segued into a discussion of Ron almost immediately. Hermione had mentioned Harry without thinking, and Fleur had jumped on the topic.

“You mean Harry Potter? He is your friend, yes?”

“My best friend, alongside Ron Weasley,” said Hermione. Fleur’s brow wrinkled.

“Ron Weasley?”

Hermione described him, and the metaphorical light-bulb went on over Fleur’s head.

“Ah,” she said, and did not sound enthused. “Yes. We have met.”

Hermione thought about the way that Ron goggled at Fleur every time she walked past the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, and experienced a sinking feeling. But she only said, “You have?”

Fleur’s usual sparkling self-confidence shifted into something a little guilty.

“You must understand, I am stalked by boys everywhere I go. And I did not know he was your friend.”

“ _Fleur_ ,” said Hermione, her tone demanding an explanation.

“He asked me to the ball, not ten minutes ago,” said Fleur. “I was not… entirely patient with him.”

Hermione had seen the dismissive way Fleur treated most of her male admirers. She let out a groan.

“Tell me there wasn’t an audience, at least.”

“I am afraid I cannot do so,” said Fleur, and she looked apologetic. “We were in the Great Hall. Many people laughed at him.”

Hermione groaned a second time.

“I am sorry,” said Fleur, and to give her credit, she seemed to mean it. “It is only that I grow impatient of all these boys who insist on throwing themselves at me when I have shown them no particular favour. I do not intend to be unkind – but sometimes it… how do you say… _grates on my nerves._ ”

Hermione sighed, but she had to admit, even she had found Ron’s newfound habit of constantly staring at Fleur to be irritating, and it wasn’t even aimed in her direction. Honestly – if _Harry_ could manage not to gape every time he saw Fleur, and treat her like an actual human being, why couldn’t Ron manage the same?

Certainly Hermione herself found Fleur stunning, but she was also aware that Fleur was a person with her own feelings, thoughts and ambitions.

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to be done about it now,” was all that Hermione said, however. 

“Very true,” said Fleur. “And if he is a true friend, he will let his embarrassment go and be happy for you.”

Hermione bit her lip. Knowing how jealous Ron had been of Harry, she couldn’t be at all sure that was the case. She changed the subject, and she and Fleur moved onto less fraught topics.

But Ron and Harry weren’t at dinner, and Hermione returned to the Gryffindor common room later that evening, concerned about them both. She found them in the common room with Ginny: Ginny looking incensed, and Ron and Harry laughing.

“Why weren’t you two at dinner?” Hermione asked, looking between them. It was Ginny who answered.

“Because – oh shut up laughing, you two – because they’ve both been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!”

Harry and Ron’s laughter immediately stopped.

“Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” said Ron to his sister.

Hermione felt a little sorry for Harry, whose heart was usually in the right place; but considering the way Ron talked about the other girls his age – laughing at Eloise Midgen for her acne, for example, when anyone with a modicum of tact understood how self-conscious she was about it – Hermione couldn’t help but feel he kind of deserved the set-down he’d been given.

“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” she found herself saying. “Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well I’m sure you’ll find someone _somewhere_ who’ll have you.”

But Ron didn’t answer, staring at Hermione like he’d never seen her before. Hermione straightened up a little, wary of that expression.

“Hermione, Neville’s right – you’re a girl…”

“Oh, well spotted!” said Hermione, because she had a sudden presentiment of where Ron was going with this. She saw Ginny close her eyes as though pained. 

“Well, you can go with one of us!” said Ron, confirming the presentiment. 

Hermione glared at him, insulted and hurt that he’d thought of asking her only as a last resort. 

“No, I can’t.”

“Oh, come on,” said Ron, “we need partners, we’re going to look really stupid if we haven’t got any, everyone else has…”

“I can’t come with you,” said Hermione, and she felt herself flush as she thought of Fleur, “because I’m already going with someone.”

“No you’re not!” said Ron, scoffing, and that was even more hurtful than asking her as a last resort. “You just said that to get rid of Neville!”

“Oh did I?” said Hermione, in a low, dangerous voice. “Just because it’s taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one _else_ has spotted I’m a girl!”

Ron looked thrown for a moment. Then he grinned again, the expression patronising.

“Okay, okay, we know you’re a girl. That do? Will you come now?”

Hermione took a deep breath to try and control her fury. In that moment, if she’d had any burgeoning feelings for Ron, she became determined to see them wither and die. 

Never mind worrying how Ron felt about her going to the Yule Ball with Fleur: Hermione suddenly felt eager to see his face the moment she stepped out with the Beauxbatons champion on her arm.

“I’ve already told you! I’m going with someone else!”

And then, before she could do something stupid like hex him, Hermione stormed away from Ron and up the stairs to her dormitory.

Hermione threw herself on her bed, and screamed into her pillow. It was very cathartic. When she was finally done she straightened up, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes to see Parvati and Lavender staring at her, looking bemused.

“ _Ron_ ,” she said in explanation, uncaring of how bitter she sounded.

“What did he do this time?” asked Parvati. For once, Hermione was angry enough that she didn’t keep her feelings to herself.

“He asked me to the ball, as a last resort, because someone else turned him down,” said Hermione. “You’d think that after three years of friendship he’d have the decency to ask me _first_ , even if we were only going as friends. And _then_ , he refused to believe me when I said I was going with someone else – as though just because _he_ thinks I’m the date of last resort means everyone else does, too!”

“Who are you going with?” Lavender asked, with keen interest.

Hermione gave a snort.

“I’m keeping it a secret, for now,” she said. “Let everyone be surprised at once. But I can’t wait to see Ron’s face when he realises I wasn’t lying.”

Parvati and Lavender exchanged glances.

“Are you planning to… you know… dress up a bit?” Parvati asked delicately.

“You know what?” said Hermione. “I am. I’m going with someone wonderful who deserves to see me at my best – not to mention it’s about time _some people_ actually noticed I’m a girl, for once.” She looked at the other two girls. “I don’t suppose you know of anything that could help with my hair?”

Parvati and Lavender looked delighted to be asked.

“Where’s last week’s issue of Witch Weekly?” Lavender said aloud, searching her area of the dorms, throwing different odds and ends aside in her search for the magazine. “I know I had it here somewhere…. _Aha!_ ”

She pounced on her copy of Witch Weekly and flipped through it. With a triumphant sound, she held it up so that Hermione could see the full-page advertisement.

“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion?” Hermione read aloud. 

“It says it’s suitable for all hair types. Look – _Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion is formulated to give even the most unruly hair shine and elegance_ ,” Lavender read off the page. She beamed at Hermione. “It’s like it’s made for you!”

Hermione tried not to feel too offended by Lavender’s comment.

“Do you suppose it would work on Harry?” Parvati asked, her voice thoughtful. “His hair is an even bigger mess than yours, Hermione – at least we can tell that you run a comb through yours.”

“Thanks ever so much, Parvati,” said Hermione, a little tartly. Lavender looked puzzled, but Parvati’s expression was unapologetic.

“You know it’s true, Hermione,” said Parvati. “But with the right products, a little care and attention – you could blossom into a genuine beauty! You have excellent bone structure, you know: and that’s more than a lot of people have to work with.” She smiled at Hermione.

Hermione reminded herself that she was doing this for Fleur: not because the other girl had ever indicated that Hermione’s appearance was a problem in any way, but because Hermione wanted to _impress_ Fleur as much as Fleur impressed her – both in intellect and appearance. 

Hermione sighed, and spoke.

“Right. If I want to knock my date off their feet, what do I need to do?”

Lavender and Parvati exchanged conspiratorial glances.

“Well, we buy our cosmetic potions from a store in Diagon Alley,” said Lavender, “but you can also buy from them by owl – I think I have a blank mail-order form somewhere.”

“That would be helpful,” said Hermione. Lavender beamed again, and began going through her things in search of the mail-order form. Parvati, meanwhile, sat on her bed and looked at Hermione. 

“So,” said Parvati, her expression uncomfortably shrewd. “You have a date to the ball that isn’t Ron Weasley. Finally got over that crush, then? Or was taking another date supposed to make him jealous?”

Hermione went still. For a second she was about to deny everything Parvati had said, but then she actually thought about the other girl’s words. Much as she’d like to deny it, she kind of _had_ held a torch for Ron – at least, until now.

“I don’t think he’d be good for me that way,” said Hermione aloud, and realised it was true even as she said it. “I mean – I want to go somewhere, _achieve_ things, and Ron, although he’s a good friend… he can be a bit lazy sometimes, which isn’t exactly compatible with my ambition. And given how jealous he’s been this year of Harry…” Hermione trailed off, wondering if she was being unfair to Ron.

But Parvati was nodding. 

“Honestly, Hermione, he’s not even a good friend to you, a lot of the time,” she said, surprising Hermione. “You know he makes fun of you sometimes, for being so organised and doing so well in classes?”

“He doesn’t really mean it,” said Hermione – but rather weakly, because she knew what Parvati was talking about. 

Ron always complained whenever she tried to get him to do his homework assignments ahead of time, and frequently made comments about how ‘mental’ Hermione was about schoolwork. Hermione had always just brushed it off, as _Ron being Ron_ ; but now she wondered, for the first time, what other people thought when they saw her putting up with that behaviour. 

The thought caused a nasty, niggling feeling in her chest.

Hermione bit her lip.

“He’s not that bad…” She paused. “…is he?”

Parvati’s silence spoke volumes.

“”Lavender?” Hermione asked. “What do you think?”

Lavender looked up from going through her stuff.

“About Ron, you mean?” She considered the question. “Well, most boys our age are pretty immature, aren’t they? But they’re cute, you know? So we deal. Not that it would be so much of a problem if we dated _older_ boys, of course,” Lavender finished with a giggle.

“But most of _them_ have girlfriends already,” said Parvati. “So…” She shrugged. 

Hermione stared at Parvati and Lavender. She felt like she was dealing with people from another planet.

“But don’t you want someone who… can keep up with you?” she asked, a little helplessly. “Who likes the same things that you like?”

“Well, sure,” said Lavender. “That’s why we date so many boys – because we’re trying to find the ones we get along with the best.”

“Not that it matters too much, right now,” Parvati added. “It’s not like we’re looking to up and marry someone tomorrow. We have time to find someone we’re compatible with. But Hermione… dating is _fun_.”

Hermione thought about that. Then she thought about the way Fleur made her _feel_. Fleur was good at engaging Hermione’s brain, the two of them embarking on intellectual discussions that got Hermione all fired up with ideas. It was nice to have someone who could keep up with her during those kinds of conversations.

Fleur could sometimes be a bit stuck-up and dismissive of other people, from what Hermione had seen of her so far: but if Fleur liked a person, she could also be charming and kind. She was usually thus with Hermione.

Fleur made Hermione feel _wanted_ , and that was something Hermione hadn’t realised she needed. It wasn’t just about physical attraction, either, although that was part of it. It was more that even Hermione’s best friends derided important aspects of her personality: traits such as her highly-organised nature; her dedication; her intellectual nature; and her ambition. 

Well, Harry not so much, but Ron? Ron _definitely_ did.

Fleur, however… she acted like all those qualities of Hermione’s were something she found attractive. Most people made Hermione feel like she was too abrasive, but Fleur? Fleur seemed to appreciate the very characteristics which others disdained.

But then, Hermione and Fleur had a lot in common: they were both clever, ambitious, and high-achievers. Interacting with Fleur was enjoyable and easy in a way that Hermione hadn’t known dealing with other people could be.

For the first time, Hermione could see Parvati’s point.

“I never saw the point of dating,” Hermione said slowly. “But the person I’m going to the ball with… they make me feel… well… special.”

Parvati smiled at Hermione. 

“Good,” she said. “That’s part of the point of dating.” 

Lavender bustled back over to them both then, waving the mail-order form and a brochure.

“Here it is! I found it!” She brandished the mail-order form in Hermione’s face. “Just fill out the form and send it with the right money, and they’ll send whatever you order out to you!”

“Lav, do you have the catalogue?” asked Parvati. “Hermione needs to know what all the products are before she can choose any of them.”

“ Oh, right – here,” said Lavender, and she gave Hermione the brochure she was holding in her other hand.

Hermione accepted it, and began paging through the brochure.

“I _think_ Madame Claude’s has the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, too,” Parvati said. “But if it’s not in the catalogue, you can always ask them.”

Hermione looked up from her perusal of the catalogue, and smiled at her two dorm-mates.

“This is really helpful. Thank you.”

Both girls smiled.

“You’re sure you won’t tell us who you’re going with?” Lavender asked, in a wheedling tone. Hermione hesitated.

“Sorry, but no.” However, Lavender and Parvati had both been very helpful, so Hermione offered them a tantalising breadcrumb of information. “But I will tell you that _she_ is very nice.”

Both Parvati and Lavender’s eyes widened to comical proportions.

“ _She?_ ” Lavender screeched.

“I didn’t know you liked girls,” said Parvati, sounding surprised. She grinned a second later. “Well. More boys for us to choose from, I suppose, if you’re not dating any of them.”

“We have _shared a dorm_ for _three years_ ,” said Lavender. “How did we not _know_ this?” She sounded shocked, and a little hurt.

Hermione gave a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal. Not in the wizarding world, anyway.”

Lavender’s expression turned to one of comprehension.

“Oh! Is this one of those things muggles frown on?” she asked, showing more perspicacity than Hermione was used to seeing from Lavender.

Hermione nodded.

“A lot of people think it’s immoral.”

“Well, they’re ridiculous,” said Parvati. She laid a hand on Hermione’s arm. “You know _we_ don’t mind – right, Hermione?”

Lavender looked stricken by the very thought.

“You do, don’t you, Hermione?” she asked, looking anxious. “I know we don’t really understand each other very well, but you must know that Parvati and I would never judge you for something like that.”

In spite of herself, Hermione was touched by their words, and some tension in her heart eased. Silly though it was, part of her had been afraid of rejection, even knowing that the wizarding world was more tolerant in this respect than the muggle one. But when a person spent the first eleven or so years of their life hearing that people like them were _wrong_ , it was hard not to take it to heart. Hearing Parvati’s and Lavender’s emphatic responses rid Hermione of some of her lingering doubts. 

“Of course,” said Hermione. She added, a little more softly: “But thanks, all the same.”

* * *

In the week leading up to Christmas, no one could talk of anything but the Yule Ball. Hermione knew that Harry was going with Parvati, who had seemed pleased enough about it; while Parvati’s twin, Padma, had agreed to go with Ron.

Things were still a bit strained between Hermione and Ron. Hermione tried to put her anger and hurt aside in favour of forgiveness, but it was difficult: for one thing, Ron kept pestering Hermione at random moments to tell him who she was going to the ball with. 

Hermione had no intention of telling him. The hurt he’d inflicted was not easily forgotten. Besides, Hermione wasn’t certain Ron actually believed she _had_ a date, even now: he kept asking her _‘who are you going to the ball with?’_ in a grinning, _gotcha!_ kind of way, as though he was trying to catch her out in a lie. It rankled no end.

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, after a night of snowfall. Harry and Ron ended up joining the other Gryffindors in a gigantic snowball fight, but Hermione chose to observe from the sidelines.

She was watching as Harry shoved a snowball down the back of Ron’s jumper, smiling to herself at the sight, when a familiar voice said, “But how undignified they all are.”

Hermione turned to smile at Fleur.

“True. But they seem to be having fun.” She glanced back at her friends, but neither seemed to have noticed Fleur’s presence, too busy pelting each other with snowballs.

“Snow is cold, and it is wet,” said Fleur, implacably. “I cannot understand the appeal.” She took a seat next to Hermione. She was wrapped up a thick, warm cloak made of velvet in Beauxbatons’ blue, but was still shivering slightly.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked. “You look cold.”

“This Scottish temperature!” said Fleur. “It is colder than I am used to.” She shuffled closer to Hermione, still shivering, and looking at her with sad, doe-like eyes.

Hermione was about to ask why Fleur hadn’t cast a Warming Charm on herself – it was a spell they learned in first year, at Hogwarts – when it dawned on her what Fleur was angling for, in a relatively subtle and unobjectionable way.

“Oh – come here,” said Hermione, laughing, and slid an arm – and her cloak – around Fleur’s shoulders. “Is that a little warmer?”

Fleur relaxed into Hermione’s side.

“ _Oui_ , this is much more comfortable,” she said, meeting Hermione’s laughing eyes with a mirthful glance of her own.

“You are incorrigible,” said Hermione, trying not to blush at how close Fleur was.

Fleur only smiled.

“But charmingly so, yes?”

“Modest, too,” Hermione added, her voice dry.

Fleur only laughed. 

“Tell me,” she said, a few minutes later, “are you looking forward to the ball tonight?”

“I am,” said Hermione. “Do you know, I’ve never been to a ball, before? This is the first one I will have ever gone to.”

“Then I will do my best to ensure it is memorable,” Fleur assured her solemnly, but with smiling creases at the corners of her eyes. “Do you know how to dance?”

Hermione nodded.

“I had ballet lessons for three years, as a child – my parents thought it would improve my coordination. And Professor McGonagall held a class last week where she showed all the Gryffindor girls the traditional dances for a proper young witch. So yes, I know how to dance.”

Fleur looked delighted.

“Ballet lessons,” she repeated. “But how interesting!”

Hermion gave a rueful chuckle.

“I wasn’t particularly talented,” she admitted. “Far from the worst student in my class, mind, but somewhere in the middle of the class ranking. Although the ballet _did_ improve my coordination, which was the point of the whole exercise.”

“You will have to show me some of the moves, sometime,” said Fleur. Hermione laughed.

“That depends on whether I can remember anything from what I learned. This was before I started at Hogwarts.”

“I am sure you will do just fine,” said Fleur. 

After a moment Hermione sighed.

“I should probably go inside and begin getting ready for the ball,” she told Fleur. 

“Very well.” Fleur untangled herself from Hermione, and both of them stood. “In that case I will go back inside your draughty castle, which is at least a little warmer than the snow outside.” She smiled at Hermione. “I shall see you tonight.” 

Hermione smiled in agreement, and watched as Fleur headed back towards the castle. Then she turned to see what Harry and Ron were doing. Both were still caught up in the snowball fight, and didn’t seem to have even noticed Fleur’s presence the entire time she’d been there.

Hermione called out to them, and told them she was going back up to her dorm to get ready.

“Who are you going with?” Ron yelled after her, but Hermione only waved, and continued her trek back up to the main entrance of Hogwarts.

As Hermione walked down the grand staircase later that evening, she was aware of heads turning and people doing double-takes as they saw her. She tried to walk gracefully in her heeled shoes, keeping her head held high.

Hermione’s dress was a periwinkle-blue gown, made of layers of chiffon which floated around her as she moved, creating the illusion that she was gliding rather than walking. Her hair, meanwhile, was done up in a sleek chignon, not a single hair out of place. The ensemble was completed by a pair of court shoes in the same shade of blue as her dress. That style of shoe was a little old-fashioned by muggle standards, but perfect for the occasion according to British wizarding fashions.

Hermione knew, intellectually, that she looked very nice in her outfit, but she was still nervous. She noticed Harry and Ron waiting near the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry looking even more nervous than she felt, and Ron looking gloomy and discontented in a hideously-magenta set of dress robes.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a flash of silver, and turned to see Fleur.

Hermione’s jaw dropped for a moment before she caught herself, and she found herself speechless. Fleur, dressed in a silvery satin gown and elbow-length gloves, was a vision of radiant beauty.

Fleur apparently hadn’t spotted Hermione yet: her gaze was searching the crowd. Feeling more nervous than ever, Hermione gave a small wave.

She could tell the exact moment Fleur laid eyes on her. Fleur’s eyes widened, and then a wide smile split her face. Fleur hurried forward.

“Hermione!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron and Harry watching as Fleur walked forward in a rustle of skirts to greet her, still smiling happily. Harry’s eyes were wide and shocked, but Ron was watching in confusion. Apparently the penny hadn’t dropped yet.

“Fleur,” said Hermione, smiling. All of her nerves had vanished. “You look lovely.”

“As do you.” Fleur tucked her arm into Hermione’s. “Shall we go in?”

As Fleur and Hermione began walking arm-in-arm into the Great Hall, she glanced in Harry and Ron’s direction. Harry was still staring in shock, but Ron… Ron had evidently caught on, and his expression could only be described as _stupefied_.

Hermione looked away, torn between worry and satisfaction at his reaction, and wondering if the satisfaction made her petty. She resolved to put Ron out of her mind for the rest of the night, and to focus on Fleur instead.

That wasn’t difficult. Fleur was nearly mesmerising in her silver gown, and as she and Hermione were sitting at the head table where the champions and their dates had been allocated seats, Ron was stuck at a different table from the two of them. Hermione found herself seated in between Fleur and Parvati, with Harry sitting on Parvati’s other side. Harry looked stunned, while Parvati’s eyes were wide with awe.

As they ordered what they wanted from the dinner menu, Parvati tapped Hermione’s shoulder and whispered, “ _Delacour_ is your date? You do aim high, don’t you?” 

Very aware of Fleur sitting on her other side, Hermione only gave Parvati a mischievous smile, and nodded slightly. Parvati grinned, and went back to chatting with Harry, who kept sending Hermione stunned glances.

Hermione turned back to look at Fleur, who was beginning to eat her bowl of bouillabaisse.

“The decorations are pretty tonight, don’t you think?” Hermione asked her. “I’ve never seen the Great Hall done up like this. It’s nice.”

Fleur smiled. 

“This is nothing,” she said. “At the Palace of Beauxbatons, we have ice sculptures all around the Dining Chamber at Christmas. They do not melt, of course. They are like huge statues of diamond, glittering around the place. And the food is simply superb.” 

She paused to wrinkle her nose at the bowl of bouillabaisse in front of her, making her opinion of Hogwarts’ food clear.

“It’s not that terrible,” said Hermione, who had tried genuine French bouillabaisse on a summer holiday.

“ _Oui_ , but it is not wonderful, either,” said Fleur, and she went on describing the Christmas feast at Beauxbatons. “At our school, we have choirs of wood-nymphs to serenade us as we eat. We have none of this ugly armour in the halls, and if a poltergeist ever entered into Beauxbatons, it would be expelled like _that_.” She slapped the table for emphasis.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Parvati roll her eyes from where she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. Evidently she didn’t like Fleur’s dismissive attitude. But Hermione thought that Fleur had a point – at least where the poltergeist was concerned.

“Peeves can be a bit of a trial,” said Hermione, with a sigh. “My first day back this year, he was throwing water balloons. One of them burst all over me.”

“This is what I mean,” said Fleur, with a sniff of disdain. “I do not mean offence, Hermione, but life is far more comfortable at Beauxbatons. And the… what is the word… _aesthetic,_ is far more pleasing to the eye. The _Chateau de Beauxbatons_ is very like the _Chateau de Versailles_ in style. I believe you would like it there.”

Hermione had visited the Palace of Versailles during her holiday in France. It had been amazing: all that grandeur and beauty. She tried to picture a building complex like the Palace of Versailles, but re-imagined as a school.

“It does sound like a lovely place,” Hermione admitted. “But Hogwarts does have its own charms – _really_ ,” she added, when Fleur looked dubious. “This is my second home. I’d hate to be anywhere else.”

Fleur still looked doubtful, but apparently accepted this. The conversation moved on.

As people finished eating, they began pushing back their chairs and heading over to the designated area of floor space set aside for dancing. Fleur looked at Hermione.

“Would you like to dance?” Fleur asked, gesturing with one gloved hand towards the dance floor.

Hermione smiled at her.

“I believe I would. And I can even guarantee I won’t step on your toes,” Hermione added, with a laugh.

“Ah yes, those ballet lessons,” said Fleur, with a smile of her own. She stood in a single, fluid movement, and offered Hermione her hand. 

Hermione took it, and the two of them went over to the dance floor.

Still holding Hermione’s hand, Fleur put her free hand at Hermione’s waist, falling into the position of the leading partner. Hermione didn’t much mind; all her lessons had been as the following partner, anyway. 

So she only smiled, and put a hand on Fleur’s shoulder, and the two of them _moved_.

Fleur turned out to be as elegant a dancer as she was in everything else. Hermione had never been particularly co-ordinated, or graceful – but somehow, with Fleur leading her every move, the traditional dances were much easier than when she’d been practicing under Professor McGonagall’s stern tutelage.

Time flew by, and Hermione was startled to realise that a couple of hours had gone past.

“I’m going to get a drink from the refreshments table,” Hermione told Fleur. “Do you mind?” 

“Not at all,” said Fleur. She nodded towards the Beauxbatons Headmistress. “I need to have a word with Madame Maxime. Come and find me once you are done, yes?”

“Of course,” said Hermione, flushed and happy from their last dance. “I’ll be back shortly.”

She left the dance floor and walked over to the refreshments table, pouring herself a glass of lemonade. She turned around and almost bumped into Ron.

He was glowering. 

“I suppose you’re having a good time, then?” His voice was surly. 

Hermione lifted her chin, even as she experienced a horrible sinking feeling.

“Yes, actually. Fleur’s been lovely.”

“ _Fleur_ ,” Ron repeated, his voice scathing.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “my _date_. Fleur.”

“I suppose she’s getting all chummy with you,” said Ron, in a voice dark with meaning. But what he was implying, Hermione had no idea.

“That _is_ generally the point of taking someone as your date, yes,” she said, and if it came out a little snippy, well, Ron had been very trying, lately.

Ron flushed blotchy-red at the jab, and his eyes narrowed.

“Come on, Hermione. You know she’s only trying to get information on Harry.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” said Hermione, her grip tightening around her lemonade glass. Her tone was positively arctic.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Ron. “She’s the _enemy_. It’s obvious!”

“For your information,” said Hermione, and she heard her own voice cool and distant through the roaring in her ears, “Fleur hasn’t asked me about Harry once!”

“Then she’s trying to get your help with the egg!” said Ron, quickly changing tack. “I suppose you’ve been putting your heads together–”

Hermione laughed, loud and biting.

“Just because you need my help with that sort of thing doesn’t mean Fleur does, Ron! She’s at the top of every class she’s in! Now if you’ll excuse me–”

“She’s _using_ you!” Ron yelled, as Hermione tried to step past him. “Why else would she want to go with you?”

Hermione saw red. 

“You’re just angry Fleur wanted to go to the ball with _me_ instead of _you!_ ”

Once the words were out there, there was no taking them back. Hermione didn’t even try. She stormed out of the Great Hall past the staring onlookers and outside into the gardens, fighting back tears of fury.

Outside, the snow had been cleared away, and the gardens had been charmed to keep out the winter chill. Ignoring the fairies perched on every bush and shrub to give ambient light, Hermione took a seat on one of the benches, careful not to snag the fabric of her dress. 

Sniffling, she pulled a handkerchief out of the tiny reticule at her wrist and began carefully dabbing at her eyes, trying not to smudge her make-up.

“Hermione?” a voice called, but Hermione didn’t look up as Fleur approached.

Fury had given way to deep, overwhelming hurt. Ron was one of her best friends. How _dare_ he say such painful things? How _could_ he? Was that really what he thought of her?

“ _Mon amie_ , what is wrong?” asked Fleur, taking a seat beside Hermione. “I saw you leave in a great hurry. Did something upset you?”

“ _Ron_ ,” Hermione choked out. “He said that you were only trying to get close to me because you wanted information to help you win the Tournament, because why else would you ask _me_ to the ball?” 

Fleur’s aspect went from concerned to terrifying in an instant.

“That _boor_. I will curse him!” she said, and began to stand with deadly intent. In that moment, Hermione could suddenly see the more vicious aspect of Fleur’s Veela heritage.

“Don’t,” said Hermione, tugging on Fleur’s arm, because she had no doubt that any curse cast by Fleur right now would be brutal in its effects. “He’s my friend.”

“He does not deserve to be,” said Fleur, still wearing that ferocious expression. But she sat down again, at Hermione’s side. “I do not know what you see in him.”

“I’m sort of wondering that myself, at the moment.” Hermione dabbed at her eyes again.

“He is as foolish as he is boorish,” Fleur declared. She took Hermione’s free hand in hers. Hermione looked up at her.

“I know that I have not known you very long,” said Fleur firmly, “but even so, your company in that time has been _etincelante_.”

“I don’t know that word,” said Hermione. Fleur frowned.

“It is – I do not know the English word. _Enchanting_ is perhaps the nearest I can think of.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand. “You are witty and studious and clever, as well as attractive, and if this boy cannot see that, do not waste your time on him.”

Hermione appreciated Fleur’s words more than she could say, but she shook her head.

“Ron… he’s one of my best friends,” she said, her voice breaking. “We’ve been through a lot together. I never had any friends before I came to Hogwarts, Fleur – not before Harry and Ron. I can’t just… turn my back on him, after everything.”

“I understand,” said Fleur, her voice soft. “Better than you know. It is not always easy, being part-Veela. Since I was eleven or twelve, all the boys have wanted to win me, as though I were some trophy, and all the girls have hated me. Before then, I had many friends – but not after. There are worse things to endure, of course… but it was not very pleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, her heart going out to Fleur, despite her own heartache. She could almost picture it: the pretty young girl Fleur must have been, suddenly finding herself lonely and alone, deserted by all the people she had believed were her friends.

“Eventually, I realised that all my past friends were my friends were no longer, and I needed to let them go,” Fleur continued. “It is rare for me to find someone who simply appreciates me for who I am – because I am beautiful, and talented, and clever, many people dislike me without ever getting to know me. I imagine it is much the same for you.”

Fleur looked into Hermione’s eyes, her expression serious.

“But Hermione – just because true friends are rare for us, does not mean that we should settle for less than we deserve. You should think deeply on whether this _Ron_ has been as good a friend to you as you have been to him – and if not, what you would change about your friendship. If it is worth salvaging, talk to him. If he does not listen… then he does not value your friendship as he should.”

Hermione sniffled a little. Tears were still only a thought away, but at least they’d stopped welling up.

“I know that what you say is good sense, but… my emotions aren’t exactly logical, much as I’d like them to be.”

“The great downfall of being,” Fleur agreed with a slight smile, although she still looked sympathetic. 

Hermione let out a long breath.

“Let’s go back inside. I very much enjoyed dancing with you, and I’m not going to let Ron spoil my entire night just because he’s a jealous git.”

“A _jealous git?_ ” Fleur repeated, somewhere between bafflement and amusement, even as she held out a hand to help Hermione stand. “What is a _git?_ ”

“An unpleasant person,” said Hermione, accepting Fleur’s help. 

“An appropriate word, despite its inelegance,” said Fleur, and Hermione gave a watery chuckle. With her hand on Fleur’s arm, the two headed back into the Great Hall.

Hermione didn’t exactly _forget_ the fight she’d had with Ron, but as she and Fleur resumed dancing, it was easier to put it out of her mind and focus on the dance. Fleur chatted to her about this and that, making light conversation until Hermione had more or less recovered her composure.

At one point she noticed Harry sending her concerned looks from where he was dancing nearby with Parvati, and she met his eyes with as reassuring a smile as she could manage. Harry, bless him, seemed relieved, and put his focus back on moving awkwardly around the dance floor.

When the ball was almost over, Fleur and Hermione went out into the gardens again, to sit in the cool night air.

“I hope that you have enjoyed the ball with me,” Fleur broke the companionable silence, “despite the _contretemps_ earlier.”

“I have,” Hermione assured her, smiling. “It’s been wonderful. _You’ve_ been wonderful.”

They were sitting very close, and as their eyes met, it seemed entirely natural to lean in even closer.

The next moment, the two of them were kissing.

Hermione had never kissed anyone before, and had never understood why some girls seemed so mad on the idea; she’d never really seen the appeal. But now, with Fleur’s mouth on hers, she abruptly understood. _Completely_.

She had no idea how long she and Fleur were sitting there, wrapped around one another, before someone cleared their throat.

“Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall’s voice intruded upon the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Hermione rushed to disentangle herself from Fleur, flushing with embarrassment as she caught the half-exasperated, half-wry expression of her Head of House.

“Professor,” said Hermione, although she didn’t let go of Fleur entirely.

“The ball is over,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please say goodnight to your date and head upstairs to your dormitory.”

“Of course,” said Hermione. She looked up at Fleur, blushing at the warmth she saw in the other girl’s eyes. “Fleur, I had a lovely time. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, and sweet dreams, _mon coeur_.” Fleur pressed a kiss to Hermione’s cheek, mindful of their audience, and stood, smiling. She nodded to Professor McGonagall. “Good evening.”

With one last smiling look at Fleur, Hermione stood up, and headed inside. All the way up to her dorm, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Lavender took one look at Hermione’s flushed face and starry-eyed expression, and burst into giggles.

“Ooh, _someone_ had a good time tonight!”

“I saw you go out into the gardens,” said Parvati, grinning. “Get in some snogging, did you?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Hermione, but she was still smiling. She couldn’t seem to stop. The expression felt permanently affixed to her face. Hermione didn’t care.

“Did you have fun?” Hermione asked Lavender and Parvati. Both girls nodded.

“Seamus is so funny, always making jokes,” said Lavender. “And he’s not a bad dancer, either. I had a great time.”

“Harry stepped on my toes a few times while we were dancing,” said Parvati, “but at least I had a better time than Padma. She went with Ron, and he didn’t even ask her to dance once.”

Hermione felt her mood sour at the mention of Ron.

“That figures, I suppose.”

Parvati sent her a knowing look, but let the subject drop.

“Anyway, I’m exhausted,” Parvati said. “I’m happy to gossip about the ball tomorrow, but right now I want to get to sleep.”

“Alright, but tomorrow you’re telling me all about the French boy I saw you dancing with!” said Lavender.

Hermione tuned out her dorm-mates’ conversation as she got changed into her pyjamas. Once she’d gone to bed, it took no time at all before she’d drifted off to sleep, still smiling as she thought of Fleur and their romance.

She didn’t know what lay ahead of them – whether this was serious, or whether it would only last for as long as Fleur was in Britain. But either way, Hermione would enjoy this relationship for however long it lasted.

* * *

If things had been strained between Hermione and Ron before the Yule Ball, that was nothing compared to how things were after their fight.

Hermione for her part refused to even speak to him, still infuriated and hurt by what he’d said at the ball. Ron, meanwhile, apparently hadn’t taken Hermione’s own words with good grace – not _at all_. He kept glaring at her, but that was hardly the worst thing.

Hermione only became aware that he was making fun of her when, after she was called on to answer a question, she saw Ron out of the corner of her eye, pretending to leap up and down in his seat in mimicry of her whenever Professor McGonagall asked a question.

Lavender giggled at the impersonation. Parvati elbowed her hard when she saw Hermione looking in their direction.

After that, however, Hermione could hardly fail to notice Ron making fun of her at every opportunity, while Harry looked increasingly disapproving from where he was sitting at the desk next to Ron’s.

Hermione was steadfastly ignoring Ron when she heard him say, just loudly enough for her to overhear:“If you feel that way, go sit with _her_ then!”

A second later, there was the sound of footsteps, and Harry sat down in the empty seat next to Hermione’s, sending her an apologetic look. Hermione managed a wavering smile of thanks, grateful beyond words that Harry was taking her side in this.

By the time class was over Hermione was nearly in tears. She stayed behind as everyone else filed out of the classroom, busying herself with packing up her things so that she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye. 

Harry stayed with her, and as they stepped out into the deserted corridor, he sent her a worried glance. It was clear that he didn’t know what to say about their best friend being such a jerk.

Finally he spoke.

“Ron’s just jealous,” he said, as awkward as Harry usually was when he had to talk about feelings.

Hermione scoffed.

“No,” said Harry, interpreting the sound correctly, “I don’t mean – not just of Delacour, Hermione.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” said Harry, looking uncomfortable, “he kind of… had a crush on you, I think. And seeing you go to the ball with the girl who turned him down in front of everyone… sort of set him off.”

Hermione stared at Harry. Tearful hurt gave way to rising indignation.

“Oh, did it?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“Uh, yeah,” said Harry, looking even more uncomfortable. “I think… well, you know Ron – I don’t think he even realised he felt that way until you went to the ball with Delacour. And next to her… I don’t think he feels like he had a chance.”

“So he thought insulting me and being nasty would win me round?” snapped Hermione. “Well that’s too bad. Right now I’d be happy never to speak to him again.”

Harry looked pained, as though he agreed with Hermione, but wouldn’t say so out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t _mean_ it,” said Harry helplessly, as though that made the situation somehow better.

“I don’t care. I did nothing to warrant this. If Ron is going to let his jealousy get in the way of our friendship, then maybe he doesn’t deserve it,” said Hermione, because the advice from Fleur had been bubbling away at the back of her mind. “Sooner or later he has to learn that his actions have consequences, Harry – and just because _you_ forgave him for being a jealous git doesn’t mean everyone will. If he wants to throw away our friendship… well, who am I to stop him?”

Harry looked distressed. Hermione stomped away from him, fed up with absolutely everything.

Once classes were over, she went to her favourite nook in the library, took a novel out of her bag, and waited for Fleur to find her.

Sure enough, she’d barely been there five minutes when the blonde girl turned up.

“What is this?” she said from near Hermione’s shoulder, her voice teasing. “Reading a novel instead of a textbook? The world is ending, surely.”

Hermione closed her book with a sigh.

“I was feeling too upset to study,” she said, with a wan smile. “And, well, I usually retreat into a novel when I need respite from the world.”

Fleur got a cute little furrow in-between her eyebrows.

“But what is so upsetting?” she asked, taking the seat next to Hermione’s.

“Ron.”

“Ah,” said Fleur. “I take it he is still being a … _git?_ ”

Hermione nodded.

“He’s been making fun of me all day,” she said, and felt tears start in her eyes. She blinked them away, feeling angry at herself as well as Ron. “Harry said he thinks Ron had a crush on me, and that’s why he’s being so nasty – because he’s _jealous_.”  
  


Fleur frowned.

“The more I hear of this Ron, the less I like him,” she announced. “Me, I would be rid of him, if he causes you pain.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

Fleur put a hand on Hermione’s arm. Hermione looked up at her.

“I am sorry that you must go through this,” said Fleur, in a soft voice. “Is there anything I may do to help?”

Hermione snorted.

“Do you know any good hexes?” she asked, only half-serious.

But Fleur gave a solemn nod.

“I know many,” she told Hermione. “You are looking for something harmless, but humiliating, I expect.”

Hermione stared at Fleur.

“Fleur,” she asked slowly, “do you often… hex people?”

Fleur gave an audible sniff of disdain, tilting her nose up.

“I only hex those who believe that I owe them something,” she said. “Or who think that because I am part-Veela, I earned my achievements… what is it you English say? Ah, yes… _on my back._ ” Her voice dripped contempt.

Hermione gaped for a moment. Then a sense of outrage welled up.

“What idiots!” she told Fleur. “As though it isn’t obvious that you’re as talented as you are beautiful.”

The icy expression on Fleur’s face melted away, and she gave Hermione a breathtaking smile.

“Thank you, _mon coeur_. But people, I find, will believe what they wish to believe – regardless of how obvious the truth may be.”

Hermione frowned at the truth in that statement. She couldn’t refute it, much as she would have liked to.

“I suppose.”

“Come,” said Fleur, laying a hand on Hermione’s arm. “Let us go outside, and I will teach you a most embarrassing hex to use if _that boy_ continues to distress you.”

Hermione let herself be persuaded to go outside and be taught the hexes Fleur had in mind. The result was an enjoyable hour spent learning several rather creative hexes (with a fair bit of snogging in-between) before she and Fleur went inside to dinner.

Hermione sat with Harry, and ignored the looks Ron was shooting their way. Parvati sent Ron a sly glance, and then raised her voice.

“Hermione! Did you have a nice time outside with Delacour?”

Further down the table, Ron scowled.

Hermione smiled slightly as she realised what Parvati was doing.

“I did. She was teaching me hexes to use on insufferable prats,” Hermione said, just as loudly. “When we weren’t snogging, of course.”

Ron reddened.

Hermione exchanged a conspiratorial smirk with Parvati.

“You’re so lucky,” said Lavender, with a sigh. “Having someone who cares about you like that. And the way she danced with you all night at the ball – it was so romantic!”

Ron was turning steadily purple, Hermione noted with satisfaction.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Harry hissed under his breath. “Is this _necessary?_ ”

“Yes,” Hermione hissed back, and turned a wide smile on Lavender.

“I know,” she told Lavender. “She’s simply wonderful.” 

Ron stood up abruptly, shoving himself away from the Gryffindor table, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Hermione watched him go, and had absolutely no regrets.

* * *

Hermione divided the rest of the school term between studying, and spending her spare time with Fleur. She also did her best to make time to spend with Harry, because he’d proven himself a true friend – unlike _certain other people_ Hermione could name. 

Harry was still friends with Ron, but their friendship had become strained over Harry’s disapproval at Ron’s malicious actions towards Hermione, and Ron’s fury that Harry had taken her side.

Hermione, for her part, now gave as good as she got, and her only regret was that Harry was caught in the middle between her and Ron’s constant state of warfare.

But aside from her feud with Ron, Hermione was truly happy in a way she never had been before. It was fair to say that she was blossoming under Fleur’s attention, and she only hoped that when it came time for Fleur to return to France, that they could work something out. Hermione never wanted this to end.

But then came the Final Task of the Tournament, and everything else that followed, and Hermione had other things on her mind than romance.

“How is he?” Fleur asked Hermione, when Hermione finally found a moment for the two of them to catch up, in-between keeping an eye on Harry.

Hermione didn’t know exactly what had happened to Harry, once the portkey had taken him away and Voldemort had been resurrected… but from the way Harry had taken to barely speaking, and staring into space at odd moments with a haunted expression, she knew that it had to have been bad.

Hermione bit her lip.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” she said, and she must have sounded more worried than she meant to, because Fleur wrapped an arm around her. Hermione tucked herself into Fleur’s side, feeling more grateful for her support than ever.

“Whatever happened must have been terrible, and I don’t know what to do,” Hermione confessed. “He’s a shadow of himself, Fleur, and I don’t know how to make it better.”

“You cannot,” said Fleur, her gentle tone of voice contrasting with the bluntness of her words. “All you can do is be there for him, until time makes his burden easier to bear.”

Hermione sighed.

“I’m so glad I have you,” she said, grateful, and then, “I wish you didn’t have to go back to France.”

Fleur hesitated. Hermione turned to look at her.

“What? What is it?”

“I have been… attempting to wait for a more appropriate moment,” said Fleur slowly, as though being careful with her words. 

Hermione’s heart dropped into her shoes. Was Fleur breaking up with her? Was this it?

“But this, I suppose, is as appropriate moment as any. Hermione… would you like to stay with my family, in France? During the holidays?”

Hermione blinked at Fleur. The other girl looked, for once, just this shade of nervous – although she hid it well.

“I’d love to!” Hermione blurted, when she realised she had been silent too long. “It’s just – my parents – I’m not sure how they’ll feel about me disappearing for another summer, and to France no less–”

But Fleur had relaxed, and was smiling.

“My parents must meet yours beforehand, of course. It is only proper. But I am certain that they are fair and reasonable people, to have produced a person such as yourself – surely they will agree?”

Hermione hesitated.

“My parents are a bit… _funny_ , about magic,” she said haltingly, and rushed to reassure Fleur when the older girl’s eyebrows drew together. “Nothing bad! They just don’t understand it, and… well, I’m always disappearing into a world where they can’t follow, and I think that they’re afraid that sooner or later I’ll disappear altogether.”

Worse, Hermione was fairly sure that they’d already resigned themselves to that eventuality. Hermione could have understood it better if they’d done their best to hold onto her for as long as they could – but instead, it was as though they’d already given up. 

To be sure, Hermione and her parents had never been especially close – there had always been a gulf between them, one that couldn’t quite be crossed, and it had only widened exponentially since Hermione had gotten her Hogwarts letter – but the fact that they weren’t willing to fight for her stung. 

“Do you think that they will forbid you to stay?” asked Fleur, with a frown.

“No,” said Hermione. “But… it might be better if your parents wrote mine a letter, rather than meeting them in person. So that my parents can pretend everything is… ordinary.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Fleur murmured. “I think I see.” She held Hermione a little tighter. 

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in one another’s embrace, before Fleur spoke again.

“You will like my family, I think. I have never asked a, what is the word, girlfriend to stay, before, so they will be a little surprised. Gabrielle will be very excited to meet you properly, however, once she finds out!”

“Oh,” said Hermione. _Now_ she felt nervous. “You’ve really never brought anyone home to meet your parents, before?”

“ _Oui_. Never.” Fleur pressed a kiss to Hermione’s temple. “No doubt they will applaud my excellent taste.”

Hermione smiled a little at that, but said, “I hope so.”

“They will,” said Fleur firmly. She pulled Hermione into a proper kiss. When they broke apart, she added, “Do not worry, _mon amie_. They will love you as much as I do.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. Part of her wanted to declare her own affections for Fleur, but the rest of her wanted to be completely, utterly _sure_ before she made such a declaration.

Instead she said, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Fleur smiled at Hermione’s words.

“Do you have the time to go out into the gardens?” Fleur asked. “The roses have bloomed. It is rather pretty. I thought that you might like to spend some time there, with me.”

“I left Ginny to watch Harry, so… I should be able to spare the time, for a little while,” said Hermione, because she needed a break from worrying about Harry. He’d gotten the bulk of her attentions these last few days, after everything that had happened. Hermione was just glad that Fleur understood.

“Then come, _mon amie_ ,” said Fleur, and together, they left the Entry Hall and went outside into the Hogwarts ornamental gardens – where, as Fleur had said, the roses had begun to bloom, the chill of winter having given way to spring.

** END **


End file.
